The Thirteen Things
by The Geeky Weirdo
Summary: Wiress's games.
1. Chapter 1

**First ever Hunger games fic, I hope you like. Weather more chappys come or not depend on the reviews I get, criticism is welcomed :D. Please remember to R&R!x**

Thirteen Things

I find myself standing by the Eealton Bridge, watching the water roll by.

The streets are lined with people, all hurrying heads-down through the smog which burns the atmosphere and destroys our lungs. Voices are not wasted in district three. They are there only to be used in doors, and when absolutely necessary. Especially not today, when the reaping is so close.

I will not be picked. I fear it every year and yet it never comes. I know that there is some risk, but in my mind I am at peace. I am safe from death.

The noise has increased now. Walking out over the dam has seen to that. They control the water flow in order to make the most of the hydro-electric arrangement flowing through the man-made canals in the river bed. From there they feed directly into the plants. To bring the technology to life and satisfy the greedy eyes of the Capitol. Yet they are never truly satisfied.

I close my eyes, letting the noise take me away from this place. Away from the crawling kinetic plants, the dusky hardware warehouses, the sound of silence. The sound of loneliness.

The water sprays up in a new burst of release, spraying me lightly with the transparent droplets. Water. So rare, but I knew what parasites it held. What good was water to us when it wasn't clean? There is no wonder as to why there are no fish in our district. I shiver against the cold, drawing my patchwork brown shall tighter around about me. They don't care about us. We're on our own.  
I turn to face the mud and the poverty. The area we call Eealton is the central hub of activity. Lines of telephone and television manufacturers cloud the south bank; the kinetic plants line the north. The protests of the overworked can be heard from inside but they are brief in their stay. Each night the discarded bodies of the worn out are burned the east wall of the factory. The pile is high; there will be a waiting list. More noises echo in the emptiness, cries of those beyond help. They do not last.

Life is fragility. Someone once told me that.

It is time to head to work. I know that if I am late again I will be punished so I run, my feet raw and bare against the frozen dirt. I arrive just on time. The next few hours are occupied by the rhythmic process of piecing together electrical boards. The small branded pieces of metal are fiddly and the solder iron hot. I remember its cruel sting with familiarity. It is a common occurrence to be burned. Whether by mistake or not.  
On the way home I stop by the Skirting Board. The pub is crowded with what people could be called drunkards; they are merely the victims of rat poison being passed over the counter under the false name of beer. The bartender and I have an arrangement. I swap him a stolen radio board in exchange for a loaf of bread. He will sell the radio to the highest bidder as he always does. And as long as I keep bringing them, I will always have food on my plate.

I struggle past the crowd to get out again. A deep gulp of the stale air does me half of the way home before I am forced to breathe again.  
I collapse against the grey wall once I am inside my room again. It is not much, being adorned only by an uneven table with make shift blankets thrown over it and bread knife. I cut my self a corner and fold the rest into the sheets. The bread is chewy and past it's best, but it is food. I am kept company by the obnoxiously loud ticking of next door's clock until it is time. Today will be the last chance they have to get me into the arena. They will not prevail. The odds are not in their favour.

I have not put in my name any more times than necessary; I do not want their treasure.

I dust myself down and pull my scarf up over my nose. It is time to face the world again.

When I reach the square it is crowded. Our mentor stands on the platform already. Beetee is nice, and intelligent. So unlike the other man addressing the gathered citizens. I am late and he has already played the video and is approaching the end of his speech.

"...May the odds be ever in your favour."

He calls the boy's name first, one I don't recognise. He is young—thirteen. Weak in the arms, but he may have some chance. I notice him cough heavily as he steps up beside the man. /Not so much of a chance then/, I amend.

"And now for the girls."

The square freezes in anticipation. And then the impossible happens.

"Wiress McCathelty."

He has lied. The odds are opposing to my every favour.

**Like? Love? Hate? Absolute poo? R&R!x  
**Author note: The title may not make sense now, but if I write more it will :)


	2. Chapter 2

Stepping forwards on jittery legs I make my way up to the platform where they are waiting for me. The shock has been too much, and I can no longer process what is happening properly. It is all a bit of a blur, the way the man formally shakes my hand, the way the other tribute does the same. The pitiful gaze of my mentor. There is a horrible buzz of foreboding in my stomach as he gently touches my back and leads me around to face the doors to the town hall. The staring eyes of the district seem to slice through me, as if they can see through my skull and into my mind, tipped to the edge of sanity by the sudden change in my situation. All of a sudden I collapse inwards with relief as the doors swing shut. I pull back my hunched shoulders and continue with uncertain breaths on the course they are leading us. The probing eyes are gone now, but yet I feel worse in their absence. I realise now that I have never known what it is to be truly alone until this moment. There have always been alike to myself wherever I've gone, but now I am with two enemies, a person who would have me dead and a man who wants me only to succeed for money.

It is not true that I am alone, however. Beetee is here. I have only spoken to him once or twice before, but the few meetings are some comfort. His eyes are kind, haunted but forever smiling. I find a new strength in this knowledge that I have him here, and it is peculiar to notice the way his hand still rests on my scapula, like he is protecting me. I know at once that he understands and that I can count on him. In a strange way, within these few seconds, without speech we have become friends. It is a mutual agreement that hangs in the air about us.

The man leads the boy tribute away and we are alone. Beetee walks me to a door and stops there, in some sudden decision that I'm not entirely comfortable when he hugs me lightly.

"Good luck," he says.

I still don't comprehend things enough to get out a /thanks/, but I hope that the small, nervous smile that I give him conveys my gratitude enough. He leaves and I turn to the door, getting ready to face what I know will come.

I enter and take one of the seats that wait inside, wondering if anybody will come to say goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, just a note to say that this story is being shelved.  
I'm short of time for writing and it dosen't seem to be getting much of a response which is generally a sign that something's not right with it.  
Apologies to anyone following it,  
The Geeky Weirdo**


End file.
